


Three Stakeouts

by Sholio



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Banter, Developing Friendships, Gen, Stakeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: The development of Peggy and Jack's friendship over the course of three different SSR stakeouts.





	Three Stakeouts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilly_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilly_C/gifts).



1\. Early 1946

Peggy took a deep breath as she approached the dark SSR car parked on the side of the street and screwed her courage together. She knew it didn't matter how she walked up to the car -- whether she approached with brisk, professional confidence or skipped up playing a ukelele and singing nursery tunes, whether she was wearing this somber dark coat that blended with the shadows or a bright flowered one that screamed "notice me at 100 yards". It didn't matter because the closest she was going to get to a stakeout, _any_ stakeout, was doing exactly what she was doing tonight: bringing sandwiches to the men in the car.

And yet she was determined that if she could prove herself competent enough, professional enough, they _would_ give her a chance to do this kind of work.

All she needed was a chance. And to get that, she was willing to swallow her pride and do unpaid lunch runs -- dinner runs, whatever -- even on her off hours.

She tapped briskly on the passenger side of the car. There was a startled flurry of activity from within, and the window cranked down. "I'd complain about you givin' us a heart attack here," Krzeminski remarked, "but you can give me a heart attack anytime, sweetie."

"You know we're working here, right, Marge?" Thompson called lazily from the driver's seat, one hand draped over the steering wheel with a mostly empty cup of coffee in it.

"I expect you don't want these sandwiches Chief Dooley dispatched me to bring you, then."

"Oh hey!" Krzeminski brightened and reached for the grease-stained bag. "Whatcha got in here? Aha, I call the chicken salad."

"Ugh. You can have it." Thompson took the bag. Peggy felt as if she'd been dismissed even though she was still standing there. "What else we got? Ham on white? Well, I guess it'll do."

"Stick around for awhile, honey, and brighten up the car," Krzeminski told Peggy through a mouthful of sandwich as she started to turn to leave for the long walk and subway ride back to her flat. 

Peggy turned back, feeling her spirits lift. _This_ could be a chance -- not that the odds were terribly good that anything would happen tonight, but if it did, she'd be here, and at the very least, she could prove to them that she could conduct herself well on a stakeout; perhaps there would be the opportunity for more assignments like this --

"Knock it off, man," Thompson told him. "You know Chief'll have our tails if he finds out we had a woman in the car on duty."

"A fellow agent, you mean?" Peggy asked sharply.

"Look, much as I'd love to chat all evening, we have work to do." Jack winked at her and touched his hat. "Tell Dooley he's a peach, and make sure there's a ham on rye tomorrow, okay?"

"Ham on rye it will be," Peggy said stiffly, and turned on her heel, marching off and trying to control the heat of anger in her face. _And if you're lucky, I'll manage to control the urge to dust it with a light topping of gravel._

* * *

2\. Late 1946

There were times when Peggy wished she could go back and lecture herself about the evils of _be careful what you wish for._ Being stuck on an all-night stakeout was definitely one of those times.

Also, she wasn't supposed to be doing it by herself; in theory, Jack was going to be here with her. He was now two hours late. She didn't mind all that much. It was quiet and peaceful in the car, with a light rain drumming on the windshield. She'd been taking the opportunity to write up her last few weeks' worth of case notes, in between peeking at the window she was surveilling with her binoculars. No one had come and gone from the house, and she was starting to think no one was going to.

A sudden tap on the window made her nearly jump out of her skin.

"Sorry I'm late," Jack whispered, opening the passenger door. He put his umbrella in the backseat and slid into the passenger seat. "Got tied up at the office."

Peggy was unable to restrain herself. "I hope you brought sandwiches, at least."

Jack gave her a blank look. "You gotta plan ahead better, Carter."

Peggy rolled her eyes and decided not to explain the joke. And it _was_ a joke, more or less; she hadn't expected him to. In Jack's world, sandwiches were fetched by other people. Which was why she had a pastry in her handbag, nicked from the kitchen back at Howard's, and she was definitely not going to share.

"You know what I did bring, though." Jack held up a Thermos. "You ask nice, I'll even share it."

"Coffee?" she asked as he unscrewed the top.

"Plus a little something extra." The smell of hot coffee and brandy filled the car. Jack wrapped his cold hands around it, took a drink, and then passed it to her. "Anything happening?"

"Not a thing. Looks like it's going to be another slow night."

"I knew I should've handed off this duty to Murphy and Branigan," Jack sighed. He unfolded a newspaper from his pocket, tilting it to catch some light from the streetlamp Peggy had been using for her note-taking. "Well, at least I can get caught up on the racing scores. Wake me up if anything happens."

Peggy sipped the coffee, strong and black, with the tingle of booze on her tongue. So this was what being one of the boys felt like.

She rather liked it.

* * *

3\. Late 1947

No matter which coast you were on, a stakeout was still a stakeout. It was dark, it was boring, and there hadn't been a single iota of activity at the mansion Peggy was currently watching from the utility van parked along the side of this winding mountain road. She had the windows rolled down to let the day's heat escape the van, so this time she heard the soft crunch of footsteps and had drawn her gun when Jack tapped lightly at the side door.

"Gonna shoot me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he got in.

"Only if you're with Leviathan."

"Shhhh, don't give away all my secrets." He held up a bag. "Hungry?"

"You brought dinner," Peggy said, surprised.

"Hey, I eat too," Jack said defensively, unpacking the bag. "Hope you like roast beef. I remember you had it the last time we worked late and ordered in at the office. Or maybe that was corned beef."

"It was roast beef. I'm impressed you remember." More than impressed, really -- also flattered and warmed, but she wasn't going to say that. No sense giving him a swelled head. And she hadn't even had to _ask,_ that was the truly amazing part. "Where are you parked?"

Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Back that way, pulled into a side drive that it looks like the maids and whatever use. Shouldn't be a problem as long as we're gone before the staff shows up in the morning." He held up a package wrapped in greasy paper. "Told 'em to hold the onions, since we're going to be stuck in a van together for the next few hours. Pickles?"

"Yes, please." She took the sandwich and glanced out the window again. The mansion was still quiet, with no visible lights except for the single light along the drive. "Did you grow up in a place like this?"

Jack gave a short laugh. "What, me? Nah. Nothing at all like _this._ It was, you know. We were pretty well off, seaside vacations every summer at a house we rented on the Jersey beach, and parties with little puff pastries, that kind of thing. But not like the mansions and servants kind of well off."

He had to pause every few words to take a breath. Walking up from his car had winded him. Peggy, in her turn, knew better than to say anything. He was still getting his strength back from the shooting, and didn't like being reminded of it.

He wouldn't be up for it if anything strenuous went down tonight, and she knew they both knew it. But this wasn't supposed to be a strenuous job. Just watching and taking pictures. And Peggy was of the firm opinion that getting back out in the field as quickly as possible was the best way for him to build his strength back up. She wouldn't have liked being sidelined, either.

"Oh, by the way. Speaking of pastries." Peggy opened her handbag, and Jack laughed. "Since you've brought the sandwiches, I can supply desert. Fresh from the kitchen at Howard's. I have a cherry Danish or, hmm, a sticky bun of some kind."

"Do you always have food in there?"

"Only when I expect to be trapped on a stakeout overnight," she said archly. "In that case, I'm making the decision. Cherry Danish for me, sticky bun for you, unless you object."

"Nope. Sticky bun sounds good. Hand it over."

Jack bypassed dinner and went straight to dessert, to Peggy's amusement, nibbling on the sticky bun while looking out the window. "Always loved these things," he remarked. "My grandmother used to make ones that were to die for, drenched in butter and dripping with honey."

"Gam-Gam?"

Jack gave her a narrow-eyed look. "You are never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Of course not," Peggy said cheerfully. "You've met the Howling Commandos. I learned to never give quarter or let a good blackmail opportunity get away, because they certainly wouldn't."

"I can't believe you were hiding outside the window that whole time."

"Watching you boys get played by an innocent-acting female? I wouldn't have missed it."

"I'll let that slide because you gave me dessert. And also," Jack added, "because I'm your boss, not that you ever seem to remember that."

"I always do everything you tell me!"

The look Jack gave her was laced with exaggerated, wounded disbelief. "I could make a list. A very _long_ list --"

"Very well," Peggy conceded. "I suppose it is more accurate to say that on any occasion when you have given me a direct order, I have done my best to follow --"

"-- the very _letter_ of that order, if not its actual intent, to the best of your abilities --"

"Be quiet and eat your sticky bun."


End file.
